


lítost

by kaileidohscope



Series: Onsra [2]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Depression, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Infidelity, M/M, Mentions of Suicide/Suicidal Behavior, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2018-07-16 04:17:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7251757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaileidohscope/pseuds/kaileidohscope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Through the course of loss and love and second chances, Kyungsoo slowly crumbles.</p>
<p><b>[</b> lítost (n. czech) : <i>regret, remorse, and repentance; a state of agony and torment or sorrow said to be "created by the sudden sight of one's own misery"</i> <b>]</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. (1) Lost in Perspective

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on AFF 151229

### 1

#### Lost in Perspective

> * * *
> 
> [ Nell – Lost in Perspective ]
> 
> I didn’t need a lot of time...  
>  to realize I had lost my closest friend;  
>  to realize that no one…  
>  ...can ever take your place.
> 
> I didn’t need a lot of time…  
>  ...to realize I would live in regret for the rest of my life;  
>  to realize that the memories of you I have to live with…  
>  ...were _my last_ chance at love.
> 
> What I hated wasn’t us.  
>  I hated _myself_ for hurting you.
> 
> If I had only realized it just a little earlier.
> 
> How much I loved you…  
>  ...and how much I would miss you.  
>  If I had only realized it… just a little earlier. If only.
> 
> It would have turned out better.
> 
> The one person who completed…  
>  ...my imperfections…  
>  ...was _you_.
> 
> If I had only… realized it… a little earlier.
> 
> How much we loved each other…  
>  ...and how happy we were.  
>  If I had only thought about it… just one more time.
> 
> If only…it would have turned out better.
> 
> (I think I can finally see us now) Only now that I’ve been left alone.  
>  (I think I can see us) Only now is everything finally becoming clear to me.  
> 

It’s a Wednesday in early September when Kyungsoo sits down at the mahogany dining table in the eat-in kitchen of his and Chanyeol’s apartment, with a decently size book in his hands. The cover is navy blue; smooth and hard, the pages wobbly and new, and the stiff spine is stubborn to be opened. On the cover is an animated picture of a red-breasted Robin, and in a golden-rimmed circle are the words: _Hyundai High School Class of 2008._

It’s his school yearbook – Kyungsoo hasn’t spared it a glance in years. It’s still technically brand new, and Kyungsoo has to hold it down to keep it from shutting on its own.

The mat pages are stained with dozens of awkwardly smiling faces—the majority of which he only vaguely recognizes, if not – doesn’t recall at all. There’s only a few printed names that stick out to him. Some of his old friends, the occasional short-lived crush, a favorite teacher here and there, and then there’s Chanyeol.

Appearance wise, Chanyeol hasn’t changed much since their senior year of high school. His smile is still broad and toothy, and his eyes still glimmer in mirth when he sees small animals (that he sadly can’t go near due to allergies) or whenever he manages to catch Kyungsoo’s bad habit of chewing his already stubby nails. His hair has also become far more stylish. Personality wise, there are plenty of aspects that Kyungsoo misses.

Chanyeol is more mature and level-headed—and while Kyungsoo had usually been the more discerning one in the old days, the roles have switched for the most part as of the present years. Chanyeol doesn’t goof off or act too reckless. Still tells corny jokes, but has lessened his playful pranks. He’s an adult while Kyungsoo isn’t really there yet. 

Their small age gap has become more apparent. Their easy mesh has become weaker, and it saddens Kyungsoo to think about. He doesn’t stay on that page for long.

Finding Jongin’s class brings him no special feelings. The adolescent smiling on the page, with deep eyes, messy hair, and that cutely dimpled chin—he makes Kyungsoo feel empty inside. The pain is so excruciating that it stopped hurting months ago.

For a while, he’d been on the brink of tears at a constant. For hours on end, he’d sit on the couch, with morning talk shows blasting—but their jovial voices had begun to sound dull and less distracting. Food had lost its appeal; coffee was bland and bitter and never lessened the weight of his eyelids. 

He’d stare into space, lost in his thoughts. He’d watch life move on outside his window, and subconsciously, his lips would tremble, he’d grimace to himself, and his eyes would flood with a glossy sheen. He’d pinch the bridge of his nose, squeeze his eyes shut, and endure a new wave of agony ripping through his chest.

He’d please Chanyeol on the nights the man wanted it, and watch him leave on the days Chanyeol wanted someone else.

He’d stopped eating, stopped bathing, stopped caring. Nothing seemed to matter in the world. Everything had lost its meaning—and Chanyeol managed to keep a blind eye to it all.

Alcohol had become his companion some days. Not everyday, but some. Mostly on the nights when Chanyeol was nowhere to be found, and the bed was left empty. The rim of a bottle replaced the lips not kissing his, and a shot glass replaced the hand not holding his.

Every other night, when alcohol's bitter tongue wasn't welcoming him into peace – he'd lie awake in his empty bed, and just stare, and think. He'd run the edges of his nails against the seams of his wrists, his palms, his forearms –wherever most sensitive–, and apply just enough pressure for it to leave a lingering sting and maybe a pulse of irritated skin, but never hard enough to leave lasting results. Just enough for it to hurt.

A subtle dose of pain—pain that he could control. It always helped open the arms of Sleep, so he use this practice when needed.

After so much, Kyungsoo had grown to hate crying; to despise it with his entire self. Tears became a mockery to him. Sobbing sounded more like jeering laughter in his ears. He held so much hatred. Hatred that he sheltered to himself— _abused_ _himself_ with.

_You’ve done this to yourself. Look at the love you receive—it’s barely even love, and it’s more than you deserve. Chanyeol still comes back to you, but his lips and thoughts are polluted with someone else. Sloppy seconds is all you’ll ever be. No wonder Jongin doesn’t want you anymore._

_You’re filth._

_You deserve nothing._

The words were unceasing in his head. It was driving him into insanity.

But all at once—one morning in June, he woke up with dry eyes, alcohol on his lips, and a void of emotion. He felt nothing; he was numb, but at least he’d stopped crying.

_Thank God_ , he’d stopped crying.

Kyungsoo stays on that page for a while. A very long while. So long, he doesn't even realize that an hour has passed until he hears Chanyeol coming through the front door. He stays still for a moment, lingering on the page until Chanyeol approaches him

“What're you doing?” The taller inquires, watching obliviously as Kyungsoo leisurely turns the page as if he'd just been flipping through it. “Is that our yearbook?”

Kyungsoo hums in reply as lips are pressed to his ear, and rough hands massage his shoulders. He tilts his head to the right, giving the man the expanse of his neck as he flips another page and sighs densely.

“Why? I haven't seen you open that thing since the day you bought it.” Chanyeol mumbles against the shell of his ear. Kyungsoo is familiar with the sensation, but it still gives him a ting of warmth somehow, and his eyes drift closed for a moment.

“I thought it'd be nice to look at it after so long; remember the old times. The good times.” His stomach churns at those words. Because the _old times_ were really _anything_ but good.

Chanyeol tisks a bit, and the puff of air feathers through Kyungsoo's fringe. “Good times, huh?” His long arms drape around narrow shoulders as he leans his chest against the older's nape, resting his chin against the side of Kyungsoo's head with a sigh.

Kyungsoo nods vaguely. A fuzziness seeps through him. It's warm and it's comforting and it aches just the slightest, as he places a hand over one of Chanyeol's forearms and savors the intimacy. It doesn't last long. Chanyeol lets him go after a decent amount of time, and fades off to do other things around the apartment. Kyungsoo feels cold.

Chanyeol goes around cleaning quietly. He washes the dishes that Kyungsoo had meant to clean earlier. He dumps out the cold coffee that Kyungsoo didn't drink that morning, and he washes the stained mug as well. He turns off the TV that no one is watching, and picks up the clothes Kyungsoo left strewn across their bedroom floor.

Kyungsoo stays where he isl; unmoving. He has closed the yearbook, and it lies idle in the middle of the kitchen table. He's sat back in his wooden chair, staring towards the window in deep thought. He only snaps out of his haze when Chanyeol enters the kitchen again and starts talking. “The laundry needs to be done tomorrow, so don't forget.”

Kyungsoo looks over at him as the man begins tugging the filled garbage bag out of the trashcan, but he forgets to answer as he comprehends the words, and looks back to the window.

“Did you hear me? I need some work clothes to be clean so I have something to wear.” Chanyeol's voice is a bit louder, and he catches Kyungsoo's attention with it.

“I will.” Kyungsoo retorts with little conviction – just a faint hue of defense.

Chanyeol gives him a look. Kyungsoo looks at the table. And that's that. Chanyeol takes out the trash, and Kyungsoo carries his yearbook back to their room, and hides it away on the top shelf of the closet.

—

In the second week of October, whilst lounging on the sofa and sorting through their stack of mail, that Kyungsoo comes upon two letters of a similar fashion. One is addressed to him, the other – Chanyeol. He opens his, naturally. It's a summons of sorts.

It's an announcement of the Hyundai High School Reunion party, held in the Gymnasium on the twenty-third of that month, starting at eight-thirty p.m. It's to be a Cock Tail gathering; a Black Tie Event.

Kyungsoo stares at it for several moments before he folds it back up, places it back in it's envelope, and drops it aside on the coffee table. He continues through the rest of the mail. Most of it is junk, with a few bills in between. 

When he's sorted through it all, he sets the stack on the vacant couch cushion beside him, and moves his attention to the television's talk shows with his mouth pressed against his palm.

After twenty minutes, his gaze drifts back to the cream-colored envelope on the coffee table. Shaking his head lightly, he pulls his eyes back to the TV. But only for a moment.

His loneliness has become so apparent in only the span of of a few minutes. The thought of seeing all his old high school friends again is both extremely appealing and excruciatingly terrifying.

Because he has no friends nowadays. He does nothing. He sits at home all day, with little to no human interaction. He wastes his daily coffee, does the dishes or cleans the laundry on occasion, and stares through the thin glass that separates himself from society. That cream-colored envelope holds an opportunity to fix that – if only for a night.

He wants that so badly.

And there is a small voice in the back of his head that he tries to ignore. It only seems to crescendo each time he pushes it down.

It's the idea that... Jongin will be there. And he shouldn't want to see Jongin again. But he does. And the thought of missing the chance is a horrible thought.

He spends the rest of the day thinking of this. Worrying. Debating.

Because he wants to go. But he also doesn't.

He forgets about his daily chores. He's only reminded of them when Chanyeol arrives home, and an argument breaks out over spoiled milk and empty cabinets. Chanyeol slams things around as he mutters and makes snide comments, and Kyungsoo is sunk into the couch with his eyes scrunched closed.

Chanyeol states that he works all day, and is tired of having to come home and clean. Kyungsoo has a half a thought to tell him he's lying – that nine times out of ten, he's in fact not working, and is fucking around with someone else – but he doesn't. He just works on sweeping the floor after Chanyeol yells at him to do so.

Kyungsoo says he's been tired; Chanyeol scoffs and calls him lazy. Kyungsoo doesn't say anything.

Later that night, when Kyungsoo is curled up in their bed and is staring at the wall, Chanyeol snuggles up behind him, and delivers his apology in the form of penitent lips and a wandering hand. Kyungsoo lets him; finds pleasure in the stimulation and even coaxes him on – but he's not sure if he accepts the reparation.

* * *

>   
> [ Still – Daughter ]
> 
> Still with feet touching  
> Still with eyes meeting  
> Still our hands match  
> Still with hearts beating
> 
> Two feet standing on a principle  
> Two hands digging in each others wounds  
> Cold smoke seeping out of colder throats  
> Darkness falling, leaves nowhere to move
> 
> It's spiraling down  
> Biting words like a wolf howling; hate is spitting out each others mouths  
> But we're still sleeping like we're lovers  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wELL. Hi.Urm. 
> 
> I guess, as you can see, this is only one chapter (like literally nothing has even happened yet) and it's already 2k+ so...  
> The full thing is going to be veerrryyy long. I'm thinking 6k++ at this rate lol
> 
> Big big thank you to all of your kind messages and support.♡  
> I can assure you I'm feeling and doing much better now, though I'm still trying to get back into the flow of writing orz
> 
> On another note! Have you given any of the playlists a listen yet?! Listen cuz all three are nice ~~my fave in the chansoo it hurts me poor heart~~
> 
>  
> 
> [kaisoo-centric](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLy__6kScUGwgkZZ1SwkjL3JC2BQ2d_1ZE) | [chansoo-centric](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLy__6kScUGwh-nTNzbB_PgojK0Y3-BpQ9) | [full playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLy__6kScUGwjnncPShbEi5nsbEGjPyAnK)
> 
> Please comment and leave some kudos! And anticipate the complete story which I'm still working on diligently!


	2. (2) Stay With Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on AFF 160615

### 2

#### Stay With Me

> [ Sam Smith – Stay With Me ]
> 
> ‘Guess it’s true I’m not good at a one-night stand… but I still need love ‘cause I’m just a man  
>  These nights never seem to go as planned; I don’t want you to leave – can you hold me hand?  
>  Oh won’t you stay with me? ‘Cause you’re all I need  
>  This ain’t love, it’s clear to see, but darling,  
>  ... _stay with me._  
> 

Kyungsoo is seventeen. It’s midspring; the air is warm, but also cool, and the night sky is fogged with a thin cloud cover. A breeze blows through the open window, and faintly lifts the curtains from their rest. Kyungsoo’s parents are out of town. The cotton sheets are neatly made and tucked around the bed. Cat Power’s cover of “Sea of Love” is playing over the crackly radio on the nightstand.

It’s 1:47AM.

“Kyungsoo.”

______ is sixteen, and laying before him on the bed, on top of the sheets. “I want to.” Whisper.

Kyungsoo stares, silent for a moment, before uttering tentatively: “You’re sure?” 

1:47AM.

Hair is unruffled and swept across his forehead. “I want to.” Stop. Eyes glisten, but they stay trained on Kyungsoo’s with unfaltering decision. “I want to.” Stop. Fingers fidget against the warm cotton sheets tucked around the bed, as soft lips faintly twitch.

_Come with me, my love..._

Careful breath. Quiet. Measured. “I want to.” 

Stop. “Kyungsoo.” Dimpled chin; deep eyes; soft kiss.

Stop. “You’re sure?”

_To the sea… The sea of love…_

Stop. Cotton sheets tucked around the bed. Soft wind. Sea of Love. Clouded moonlight. Eyes. Nose. Lips. Chest. Hands. Touch. Breathe. Gentle. Breathe. Slow. Stop.

4:03AM.

Untucked cotton sheets, cool wind. No clothes; soft skin; sweaty hair.

“- ---- ---” Lips move. No sound. The image wobbles, the mouth is blurred. 

Stop. “Kyungsoo, - ---- ---.” Whispered; distorted; incomprehensible.

_I… wanna tell you… … how much… ..._

1:48AM.

“You’re sure?” Stop.

4:04AM.

“Say something.” Stop.

_Do you remember… when we met…?_

“I want to.” Stop.

Fading; blurring; losing focus.

… _that’s the day I knew you were my pet..._

“- ---- ---”

Pleading eyes; vulnerable eyes. “- ---- ---” Stop. Star-speckled irises, mussed hair, wet lips. “- ---- ---” Stop. 

4:05AM.

“Say something…!” Stop. 

“Kyungsoo.” Soft kiss.

_I… wanna tell you, how much… I..._

Loud. The music is so loud. It’s dizzying.

“Say something… …” 

_Come with me, my love..._

Quivering lips; hesitation.

“Kyungsoo… … ...”

_To the sea… The sea of love..._

Darkness. It’s drifting away—smearing out of his vision. Kyungsoo’s grasping for it, begging, pleading, desperate.

_I… … wanna tell… … you… … ... how much… … … … I… … … ... love… … … … … … … … … …_

Come back. Come back. Kyungsoo’s losing it. It’s slipping away. _He’s_ slipping away. Come back.

  


1:47AM.

1:47AM.

1:47AM.

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


_Jongin, come back._

  


  


  


  


Stop.

Kyungsoo opens his eyes, and the room is aglow with morning. It’s October fifteenth. The sheets are smooth satin, and Chanyeol is across the room, quietly sifting through shirts. It’s silent, aside from the soft skidding of plastic hangers gliding over the metal rod in the closet. Chanyeol is looking for one of his work shirts: a baby blue button-up. He’s already wearing his dark navy slacks, and a thin, white wife-beater. All that’s left are his shirt and tie.

… … … _shhhk … … shhhk … … shhhk … … shhhk … … shhhk … … shhhk … … shhhk … … … shhhk … … … shhk— … … …_

Chanyeol closes the closet with an audible sigh, and moves towards the laundry hamper. It’s overflowing with clothes that have piled up over two weeks, and Kyungsoo watches, as he digs out one of three rumpled baby blue button-ups. It’s folded and wrinkled all to hell, but Chanyeol still shrugs it onto his shoulders, and does up the buttons.

Kyungsoo feels a tingle of burden at the sight—he was supposed to do the laundry – _he’s always supposed to do the laundry_ –, but remains motionless as Chanyeol tucks in his shirt, straightens out his cuffs, and knots the silky black tie around his neck. Chanyeol leaves the room with a soft click, and leaves the apartment with potent coffee.

No good morning kiss. No kiss goodbye. Just the fading wafts of caffeine and cologne.

Kyungsoo buries himself in the blanks— in the silence— in the burden— and goes back to sleep.

  


And there, he finds Jongin. He finds water park swimming pools, and cookie-scented living rooms, and airplanes writing the sky like an etch-a-sketch. There, he _sees_ Jongin, and Jongin is laid beside him in the soft, green grass, and Jongin is smiling at him, and he’s beautiful. He sees a little house on a hill, with dandelions in the front lawn, and the children’s names that reside there. There are quiet nights and tanqueray over ice—that he had stolen from his Father’s stash in the garage; that had made Jongin squeamish but bubbly with giggles whenever Kyungsoo kissed his chin.

He can feel the butterfly kisses on his cheeks, and he can feel the flutters in his tummy. It’s warm, it’s peaceful. It’s like home.

But—the image shatters, and reality comes pounding on his snowglobe paradise; shattering the sky dome and slicing it all to ribbons. 

  


Kyungsoo opens his eyes, and the room is drenched in darkness. The air is cold, and so are his fingers. The bed creaks, and a familiar weight settles on the edge of the mattress before him. The sheets are slowly inched back, and the air raises gooseflesh all along the expanse of his thigh, as a heavy hand rests against his hip, and a familiar thumb rubs circles into his skin.

Chanyeol smells of cigarettes and booze, but it’s a nice change. It’s normally of sex and a cologne Kyungsoo knows Chanyeol doesn’t wear— a sweet concoction of baby powder and vanilla—that burns Kyungsoo’s senses like barbed-wire.

Booze and cigarettes is a nice change, because it means that Chanyeol has not indulged in another’s company. He has come to Kyungsoo first, and that realization has his body flaring with approbation.

It’s only natural, that he lays Chanyeol on his back, and straddles his frame. He edges his hands under the starched fabric of the man’s shirt, and pops the buttons in a way he knows Chanyeol likes. Careful, and unhurried. He unbuckles the shiny leather belt, and tugs it out of it’s pant loops. He kisses Chanyeol’s lower lip, and takes his time with the zipper pull-tab.

Chanyeol watches him with drunken stupor and clouded lust, as Kyungsoo tugs the garments back just enough, and takes him in his mouth with a steadiness he knows Chanyeol likes. Then, Chanyeol isn’t watching him anymore. He closes his eyes and leaves the younger to do the rest.

And Kyungsoo does. He uses his hands, mouth, lips, tongue—in all the ways he knows Chanyeol likes—and doesn’t stop until the man reaches climax. He catches the substance in his mouth, let’s Chanyeol see it on his lips, and swallows like it’s a trophy. It’s tangy by taste, and thick on his tongue, and he doesn’t like it, but he swallows it, because he knows Chanyeol wants him to.

  


When it’s over, he settles on his side next to Chanyeol – who is sprawled on his back – and fits their hands together in the small space between them. Chanyeol’s hand is clammy and rough, and their fingers refuse to twine comfortably, but Kyungsoo holds tight. He holds so tight, that his fingertips press into the back of Chanyeol’s hand, and his knuckles turn white.

He holds so tight, so tight, and he hopes he has fulfilled his duty; that he has earned his lover for the night. That Chanyeol is sated. He holds so tight, and rests his forehead against Chanyeol’s shoulder; hopes, so deeply.

  


Chanyeol withdraws shortly after.

He pulls his hand free, and stands from the bed. He re-buttons his shirt, zips up his pants, and Kyungsoo can do nothing, but listen as Chanyeol grabs his keys, shuffles into a jacket, and leaves him there like a no-pay whore.

The air is still. It’s quiet. Empty.

Kyungsoo squeezes his eyes closed, scrunches up his brows, and bites his lips until he tastes blood—the taste of semen is potent in his mouth, and the metallic taste faintly masks it. He curls in on himself; smothers his face into his arms, but he can still taste it. It’s nauseating, and the wilting arousal between his legs brings him nothing but shame. He can feel his throat aching, and he can still feel the stimulation in his palms. It burns into his stomach, resting there like acidic poison. His chest burns and his throat grows tight. He closes his eyes.

Fingernails dig into his outer thigh, scraping away some layers of skin and leaving red abrasions in their wake—and the tension seeps from his ribs. Then he can breath, even just barely.

  


In the end, he wasn’t enough. In the end, Chanyeol still wants something more. Someone different.

Kyungsoo buries himself in the blanks— in the darkness— in the pain— and goes back to sleep.

  


  


And there, he finds Jongin. And Jongin is smiling.

  


  


  


—

  


  


  


Chanyeol says he wants to go to the reunion for the free booze and gourmet food. Kyungsoo is still hesitant, but he can’t exactly refuse when Chanyeol says, in that encouraging voice of his, _“It’ll be fun to get out of the apartment for once, right?”_ So he stands for an hour before the bathroom mirror, slowly knotting his tie, and making himself appear presentable. Chanyeol stands there for two hours, making sure his hair is well-coiffed, and his teeth look nice – and other such things that Kyungsoo hasn’t bothered with.

Kyungsoo is still hesitant, because he doesn’t know what to expect; doesn’t know who of his old friends he will encounter, and he doesn’t know how to talk to them, or anyone for that matter. He doesn’t know what to say, or if they’ll even recognize him at all.

He is still hesitant, because the inevitable feeling of being forgotten is weighing on his conscious. Because why would they remember him? It’s hard to come up with any reasons.

  


He isn’t surprised to find himself standing off in a corner, with a glass of red wine in his hands and his lower lip worried between his teeth. The stage band is playing soft jazz, and everyone around him is socializing. He is stood beside Chanyeol, but the elder is busy chatting with a blonde woman who he vaguely remembers the name of. Hyoyeon, was it? He doesn’t ponder on it for long. They’re not paying him any attention, anyway.

In the meantime, he watches Huang Zitao hook arms with a tall, sharp-looking man and occasionally adjust his sunglasses. Zitao is from foreign language class. Kyungsoo never liked him much. The guy thought of himself as tough-shit and a peg higher than everyone else because he was already well acquainted with the traditional Chinese language. In high school, his hair was bleached blond. Now it’s an ashy black. His fashion hasn’t changed—nothing but Gucci and a stylish fedora. He’s talking animatedly with a woman – Taeyeon, that Kyungsoo remembers from FCS. She’s still as pretty as her yearbook photo. And she still resembles her brother, _Baekhyun_ , to a freakish degree. She seems to be doing well, with whom Kyungsoo assumes to be her husband knitted close to her side, and the dazzling smile that never leaves her lips. Kyungsoo bets she’s a lawyer.

His eyes flick over the crowd of people, and they all sort of mesh together into a blur of suits and gowns and sparky jewelery. No one is looking at him.

He sees Kim Minseok from trigonometry, and contemplates approaching the man as he glances vaguely to Chanyeol, then makes his way to the table full of expensive foods, and carefully takes a square of cheese. He considers it for a while, but eventually decides not to when he notices Lu Han that had approached him, and remembers the secret love notes left in lockers, and the extended stares from across the lunch table. He remembers the smile Lu Han adorned, soft and gentle, as Minseok spoke up a little during class, and he wonders if he ever figured it out—if Lu Han ever told him—after Minseok got a girlfriend sophomore year, why the box of chocolates he’d get every year on Valentine’s day would still be there, but Lu Han would stop waiting by his locker after school. 

Kyungsoo watches, as Lu Han tentatively approaches Minseok, and decides that _no,_ he shouldn’t interrupt, as that smile – soft and gentle – adorns Lu Han’s face, and Minseok returns it with a sparkle of surprise.

His gaze migrates toward Chanyeol. Chanyeol isn’t looking at him, but instead at the short, dirty-blond man in front of him. Chanyeol’s smile is soft, and his eyes are zestful. He doesn’t look at Kyungsoo like that. Hasn’t in months. 

Someone crosses his view, and they meet eyes for an awkward moment. He smiles in a flat line, but his temples faintly ache, and he turns his gaze downward. He takes the nearest bottle of alcohol, and fills his glass until the bubbles reach the rim.

  


He spends the rest of the evening seated off a ways from the large groups of people. He watches them all converse, guesses how their lives are, and puts his own failures in comparison. He notices how Chanyeol notices that he’s isolating himself, but the elder just spares him worrisome glances in between charming smiles and sips of wine. He let’s Kyungsoo sit by himself without question, and Kyungsoo wishes he wouldn’t.

He wonders if anyone even knows he’s with Chanyeol—that they had come as a couple. He wonders if Chanyeol had cared to mention it, as he leans down, and whispers something surely vile to the man he’s been speaking to for the past hour. Kyungsoo finishes the bottle of wine he’s stolen from a table, and barely notices when someone takes the vacant seat beside him, startling at the sudden voice. “Kyungsoo, right?”

  


Said male sputters slightly, nearly choking on his wine as he smacks a hand over his mouth to catch the stray beads of wine down his chin. “Yes?” Kyungsoo coughs lightly, adjusting himself in embarrassment as he sets the wine bottle aside. This man is vaguely recognizable, with wide-set features but a soft face. Kyungsoo can’t think of a name. “I’m sorry, ...do I know you?”

The man visibly deflates, but his smile remains. Something’s familiar about it.

“Ah, I wouldn’t expect you to remember me.” He admits, and lifts one shoulder into a shrug. “I’m Lim Hyunsik. We had gym together.” He pauses, as if waiting for Kyungsoo to catch on. Kyungsoo doesn’t. “You know, uh… I let you borrow my deodorant a lot because you always forgot yours.” Kyungsoo is still blank, as he searches this man’s face for any recognition. And then it clicks.

“Oh, I went to your birthday party, right? And you con…” Hyunsik confessed to him that night. And Kyungsoo remembers turning him down. And he also remembers making out with Hyunsik’s older brother that very same night. “...You had a crush on me.” Kyungsoo finishes, voice soft with belated remorse.

“Yeah, um, don’t worry ‘bout it.” Hyunsik smiles, waving his hand dismissively as he shakes his head. “It was a long time ago.” He chuckles awkwardly, and Kyungsoo copies the sentiment. His eyes subconsciously drift to Chanyeol’s direction. Hyunsik follows his gaze.

“Is that one yours?” He questions, humorously.

Kyungsoo looks at him, then snickers wryly. “You could say that, I guess.” He mumbles, eyes drifting downward for a moment before finding Chanyeol again. He’s laughing with someone. Standing so close to them. Too close. “He forgets, sometimes.”

It takes a moment, and then “Oh.” Hyunsik makes an empathetic sort of noise, and Kyungsoo glances at him with a dour smile. They sit in an unsettled silence before Hyunsik is speaking up again. “You wanna get out of here? Go for a walk, maybe.” He suggests, and Kyungsoo wants to ignore the dull hope in his gaze. Wants to ignore the underlying meaning when Hyunsik says, with a laugh, “Maybe you can forget, too.”

Kyungsoo smiles in awkward gratitude. “Oh. Sorry, I—” _a_ _m not like that anymore_ “—think I’ll just stick around here. I’ll probably be leaving soon, anyway.”

Hyunsik smiles, that ever pretty smile of his. It looks a lot like that one from that night, when he’d bluntly stated that the feelings weren’t mutual, and Hyunsik had just smiled, nodded, and said he understood. Kyungsoo feels heavy. “Alright. Well it was nice seeing you again, Kyungsoo.” Hyunsik makes to stand, and Kyungsoo reaches out to him, holds onto his wrist.

“I really am… sorry. Maybe we can meet up sometime?”

Hyunsik smiles again, more genuine, and nods. “I’d like that.” He gives Kyungsoo his number, but Kyungsoo knows he will never bring himself to dial it. He will never bring himself to look any other direction, as long as Chanyeol is blocking his view, and Jongin is clouding his everything.

  


  


He never sees Jongin that night, because Jongin isn’t there. He tells himself he’s not disappointed when they return to the apartment later that night, and that the way Chanyeol kisses him is comforting, and not lust-driven.

For another night, he lies awake, staring into nothing; until the sun breaks over the horizon, and his eyes finally close.

For another day, he doesn’t leave the bed, he doesn’t eat, he doesn’t move. He sleeps.

And all he can taste is wine.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and leave some kudos!♡
> 
> [kaisoo-centric](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLy__6kScUGwgkZZ1SwkjL3JC2BQ2d_1ZE) | [chansoo-centric](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLy__6kScUGwh-nTNzbB_PgojK0Y3-BpQ9) | [full playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLy__6kScUGwjnncPShbEi5nsbEGjPyAnK)


	3. (3) Somebody Else

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Graphic Self-harm.

### 3

#### Somebody Else

> [ Daughter – Landfill ]
> 
> Throw me in the landfill; don’t think about the consequences.
> 
> Throw me in the dirt pit; don’t think about the choices that you make.
> 
> Throw me in the water; don’t think about the splash I will create.
> 
> Leave me at the alter, knowing all the things you just escaped.
> 
> Push me out to sea, on a little boat that you made out of the evergreen; that you helped your father cut away.
> 
> Leave me on the tracks, to wait until the morning train arrives; don’t you dare look back.
> 
> Walk away, catch up with the sunrise.
> 
>   
> 
> 
> This is torturous.
> 
> Electricity between both of us.
> 
> And this is dangerous, ‘cause I want you so much, but I hate your guts.
> 
> _I hate you._

Kyungsoo’s insides are screaming at him after two nights and one day of nothing but rest. He doesn’t want to, but his burning insides refuse to let him sleep. He pulls himself to the bathroom, and stands under the shower-head, and tries to fathom how he could _possibly_ still be so tired. Despite their persistence, he doesn’t let his eyes close as they wish, and carries himself to the kitchen to scavenge.

There isn’t much of anything in his system, and he’s sure his stomach has shriveled up to the size of a grape by now. The cabinets are equally as bare.

He’s just beginning to consider going grocery shopping when the clatter of keys unlocking the door pierce his eardrums like needles, shattering the settled silence. He’s still standing before the fridge, hardly moving as the door gives way and Chanyeol’s boisterous voice enters the apartment like sunshine.

And he’s not alone. There’s a brisk voice that accompanies his, with a laugh that echoes in Kyungsoo’s skull like wasps. They’re laughing about something; they’re laughing together. Kyungsoo doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe.

They talk something of bagels and the new coffee shop that just opened down the street. Chanyeol’s voice fades into the bedroom, and the other voice stays in the living room—in the entryway. He bets Chanyeol has told him not to come in, told him that he just needed to grab something.

The way they converse is so natural, with a hearty laugh or a coy chortle every other sentence. So full of interest; life. He and Chanyeol used to talk like that. Used to love like that. He remembers snowflakes, and hot chocolate, and a Build-a-Bear Workshop; playful grins and interlocked fingers.

“ _You’re so full of yourself.” Kyungsoo snickers in a low exasperated humor, but let’s himself be pulled close when Chanyeol does so, said giant laughing jauntily in response as he cups his palm around Kyungsoo’s jaw and leans in for a kiss, muttering a cheeky “You love it.”_

He can see it all, watches the sweet scene replay like a movie.

And then Kyungsoo learns his name. The name to the other voice, the name that Chanyeol says so fondly. The name that brings Kyungsoo back to the present, the name that’s whispered, quiet, beckoning.

“Baekhyun.”

Kyungsoo doesn’t know what he’s missed, doesn’t know how long he’d zoned out, but he doesn’t need to. Doesn’t care to, because then they are kissing. He can hear the moisture of lips against lips, tongue against tongue, breath against breath.

A soft moan, a faint creak of a door, and more kissing. Shuffling of clothes, the squelch of lips against bare skin, and sweet, soft laughter.

He can’t move. Doesn’t move. There’s pain that washes over him like fire; ruins him, with a crash, burn, and bloody ears. His head throbs. And he’s surprised he can even still feel this. Feel _anything._

“It has to be quick.” Chanyeol whispers, but not quiet enough, because Kyungsoo still catches it. And there’s a laugh – Baekhyun’s laugh; smothered by the smack of wet kissing.

“Just the usual then?” Playful and wry, spoken with spark and mischief, and the tug of a zipper. Chanyeol guffaws, muttering some sort of frisky retort that doesn’t reach Kyungsoo’s ears. The banter fades when they close the bedroom door, and Kyungsoo has sunken to the floor by then. Catatonic. 

Because it’s just the same. So ironically the same. Like a record, broken, and replying a sickening love song.

It’s like the day in June, when Kyungsoo was eighteen. It’s like the day in June, when Jongin caught them. When Kyungsoo’s mind was polluted in lust and Chanyeol and the rush of action.

It’s like the day Kyungsoo lost everything.

He hears their laughter through the walls, and it’s twice as painful. Twice as real.

  


They are quick. Twenty minutes, and they’re leaving. Chanyeol comes into the kitchen, disheveled but smiling. He grabs something, and leaves without so much as glancing Kyungsoo’s way. Kyungsoo doesn’t move at all. Watches him go with stricken eyes.

He’s unnoticed. Invisible, unmoving.

Nonexistent in Chanyeol’s world.

Absent in Chanyeol’s mind.

And he wants to scream at the man. Scream out his prescience. Scream anything. 

_Look at me, look at me please, I’m right here, look at me, see me, not him, I’m here, please, look at me, why him, why not me, why aren’t I enough?_

  


He says nothing. 

Chanyeol leaves, and he does nothing.

He sits there in the dark, on the cold floor, against the fridge, and can’t move for what feels like days. His eyes burn, but they never fill with moisture. His chest burns, but it doesn’t fade when he draws fingernails against skin, pealing a single layer away.

When he regains feeling in his legs, and his wrists and arms are raw with nail tracks, he lifts himself onto his knees, and opens one of the counter drawers. What he withdraws is a serrated knife. The knife he usually uses to slice bread rolls.

He uses it now against the seam of his arm, testing the blade. It doesn’t slice, but it hurts the same. If he presses harder, he knows it can draw blood. He doesn’t do this on his arm, but instead on his leg—the inside of his thigh—because it’s easier to hide, and more sensitive.

The sting is excruciating, but it takes his mind away from the pain in his chest. It takes in mind away from everything.

He draws the knife back to see his work, legs bent and spread out against the tilted floor. It’s a thick line, speckled with blood dots and finely shaved skin. It’s not enough, because his mind returns to the bleeding in his chest.

Kyungsoo presses the knife down again, over the line he just drew, and holds it down more firmly as the blade glides across his skin with resistance, stuttering against his flesh and a sudden weld of red. He presses down harder, drags the knife longer.

He stops when blood drips down his thigh, and sets the knife aside to watch it ooze. It’s a long slice – stretches from the side of his knee all the way down. Before it drips onto the floor, he tries to wipe it away; smudges it across his hand, but it continues to stream.

He doesn’t catch it when it flows out onto the floor—isn’t fast enough—and by then his hands are covered in blood and there’s smears on his shirt. The left leg of his boxers is soaked with crimson. He grabs a rag, but it’s not enough. It’s too thin, and in a matter of seconds, it’s soaked as well. He grabs another, and the same thing occurs.

His vision gets a little a clouded, head a little fogged, and he realizes then that maybe he cut too deep. Maybe he’s bleeding out too much.

There’s blood all over the kitchen floor, and there’s bloody hand prints on everything he touches, and he can hardly walk straight, but at least it worked.

As he searches for his phone, he smudges blood on the light switch and the doorknob, drips all over the carpet, gets blood-hand prints on the bed and the pillows, and leaves ruby footprints in his wake. He finds the device discarded on the floor, half under the bed. He smears blood across the screen, and dials 119.

  


At least it worked. 

The ache in his chest is long forgotten.

* * *

> [ Somebody Else – 1975 ]
> 
> So I heard
> 
> you found
> 
> somebody else.
> 
> And at first
> 
> I thought
> 
> it was a lie.
> 
> I took all my things
> 
> that
> 
> make
> 
> sound.
> 
> The rest I could do without.
> 
> I don’t want your body, but I hate to think about you with _somebody else._
> 
> Our love has gone cold; you’re intertwining your soul with _somebody else._
> 
> I’m looking through you while you’re looking through your phone, and then leaving with _somebody else._
> 
> No, I don’t want your body, but I’m picturing your body with _somebody else._
> 
> * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>   
>  Send your questions to ask.fm/dyobird  
>   
>  
> 
> ♡
> 
>  
> 
> [kaisoo-centric](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLy__6kScUGwgkZZ1SwkjL3JC2BQ2d_1ZE) | [chansoo-centric](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLy__6kScUGwh-nTNzbB_PgojK0Y3-BpQ9) | [full playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLy__6kScUGwjnncPShbEi5nsbEGjPyAnK)


	4. (4) Hands, Be Still

### 4

#### Hands, Be Still

> Ólafur Arnalds - Hands, be still 

* * *

Kyungsoo is held at the hospital for several days, for assessment and moderate malnutrition treatment.

It turns out those three days Kyungsoo spent in bed were more like three weeks, and Kyungsoo can’t fathom where his time has gone—he’s lost so much of it, he has to check the date every few hours before he actually believes them.

He talks to a variety of doctors, or rather, they come observe and poke him with needles. A team of physicians and health care providers, what he remembers to have included a gastroenterologist, a dietician, a nutrition nurse, a psychologist and a social worker. 

The psychologist is the one that finds the problem—said problem that Kyungsoo argues is nonexistent.

It’s not his organs, it’s not an eating-disorder, or any other possible cause. Kyungsoo simply isn’t eating, and his reason is always the same. _“It’s because I’m not hungry.”_

The psychologist hates this answer. It’s not answering enough.

He hates the way she questions him; probing at his brain with her hard-headed questions and always cocking a skeptical brow at his replies . She asks about what happened to his thigh. Kyungsoo says he was in an accident. She asks of what kind, and Kyungsoo can’t give a straight answer answer. He blanks and vaguely shrugs. It speaks volumes.

There will be silence, heavy stares, a skeptical brow twitch, and then the click of a pen as she scribbles something down on her notepad. She’s always scribbling things, and Kyungsoo wants to know what she’s writing about. He doesn’t ask.

They go back and forth with this for the duration of his stay. She never gets any solid answers, but Kyungsoo doesn’t think she needs his words. He does want to believe—doesn’t admit it even to himself, but he  knows she knows the truth, and she knows  _he knows_ she knows. It all just a battle of  pride and stubbornness, and Kyungsoo isn’t buckling.

Maybe he doesn’t have any of the complex  answers  she wants. He did it because he was hurting, and if he were going to hurt, he wanted to hurt  _the way_ he wanted to hurt.

  


She concludes his depression on her own analysis by day five , and Kyungsoo doesn’t speak a sound nor retort. He sinks into his sheets, and closes his eyes to the white-washed walls, and gets lulled to sleep by the  loud  monitor  keeping time with his heart beat.

He wishes the beeping would stop for once.

Maybe then he’d have answers, and his chest would stop hurting.

  


It never stops be ep ing. The hospital staff ensure of that— t hey don’t leave him alone for any longer than a bathroom break.  They speak to him in light voices, they turn on cartoons  for him  everyday , treat him like a grenade, never stop their hesitant smil es, and  try to hide the  pity  in their glances.

Kyungsoo is indifferent to them all.

  


  


  


  


  


  


Chanyeol was already at the hospital when Kyungsoo had first awoken. It was unexpected, and Kyungsoo almost hated it. The first couple nights, Chanyeol had stayed overnight, but Kyungsoo told him not to. Told him to go home. He can’t stand the look in the man’s eyes every time he stared off into space, dazed in the hours lapsed with silence.

He sees so many emotions embedded in Chanyeol’s gaze.

Anger, tiredness. Fatigue, worry.

Does he  dare find remorse in those pupils? Sadness?

Kyungsoo never lets himself stare long enough to see anything other than burden. The burden Chanyeol has, to be here at the hospital, to be here for Kyungsoo, when he could be doing other things. Be with other people.

The shock it must’ve given him—to come back and find Kyungsoo in an ambulance. The terror and panic that must’ve plagued him, when he was greeted with the murder-like scene left in their apartment.

  


Kyungsoo feels a subtle, sinister, spiteful relief in the thought. In those moments, Chanyeol deserved that horror.

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


Chanyeol visits everyday; stays for hours. They sit out in the hospital garden, quietly. It’s becomes their regimen. Chanyeol comes around noon. He brings Kyungsoo Starbucks, and then they go down to garden to eat and  sit in awkward silences and  watch other patients.

The garden traffic is different, everyday. Today, there is  an old man with a plastic gap in his esophagus, a happy couple holding their newborn,  and a little girl counting the flowerbed rocks, while her ill Mother smiles  under his face mask and watches.

And then there is Kyungsoo. In a wheelchair, with his thigh stitched closed; bound taut, the bandages faintly blood stained. Chanyeol s its beside him on a bench.

It’s quiet, as per usual. They eat, and don’t talk much. An occasional comment about the weather, or local news.

  


After so long, Chanyeol holds his hand. It’s careful and done tentatively. He reaches over Kyungsoo’s armrest, turn’s his  wrist towards the clouds, and fits his palm against Kyungsoo’s. A hesitant, gentle gesture. Done so apprehensively; so timorous.

So afraid to touch fire.  To burn.

Kyungsoo glances wordless at him. Chanyeol smiles, just barely. Uneasily.

Kyungsoo looks away, but his grip tightens. He rests his other hand atop their clasped ones; his thumb nudges over Chanyeol’s knuckles.

  


Chanyeol knows.

They both know.

  


Kyungsoo forgives him. It is not spoken aloud—this apology. It is not spoken aloud what Chanyeol has done – why and what Kyungsoo  inflicted to himself – so Kyungsoo forgives him.

Because he can  pretend to not know what Chanyeol is mutely apologizing for. He can pretend he didn’t take a knife to himself.

  


Nothing’s ever spoken aloud, so he can pretend there’s nothing wrong.

Pretend to be oblivious.

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


Kyungsoo is discharged from the hospital after a week of observation and treatment. He is sent home with a strict diet plan and a list of psychologists he’s strongly urged to contact. He’s not planning to. They can’t “help” him if he’s unwilling to be “helped”. The most they can do is give him gentle lectures and try to butter him up to the thought of visiting a psychiatrist for a more in depth diagnosis. Kyungsoo doesn’t listen to any of it.

Kyungsoo doesn’t need any help. Kyungsoo is fine.

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


In the time that passes, Kyungsoo doesn’t—can’t—sleep in their room anymore. He sleeps on the couch every night, because their room is unbearable. Their bed is untouchable. The carpet has been bleached, the sheets have been changed, all evidence of Chanyeol sleeping with another man in their own bed has been cleaned out, but Kyungsoo can see every single mark left by _him._

By _Baekhyun._

It’s irrevocably burned beneath his eyelids.

  


All his blood has been cleaned away; all of the mess. The carpets have been deep cleaned and bleached. The kitchen tile—scrubbed vigorously.

All evidence of that day are diminished of. The only proof of it all is the horrendous stitches up the length of Kyungsoo’s inner thigh.

Chanyeol hasn’t laid a hand on him since.

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


Kyungsoo is fine, even now, as he stands at the edge, at the very top, of their apartment fire escape, and peers down at the cars and civilians passing below. The air is thin and stale and light. 

For a moment—just a moment, he wonders what it would feel like to jump. To feel the wind rushing passed his ears. Wonders if it would be high enough for the pain to vanish in a split second.

He sees a woman and a man—husband and wife—and their two children, happy with ice-cream and bright smiles and new plushies.

He combs his fringe back, shuffles away from the railing, and decides he’s being stupid.

  


Because really. Kyungsoo is fine.

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


Kyungsoo let go of everything in one single moment. One single smile, one single kiss, and he let everything go.

It had slipped out in desperate panic. It slipped out like a plea. A week had passed since his hospital release. His stitches are still healing; his thigh still wrapped. He had been sitting at the kitchen table. He had cooked eggs, and bacon, and poured Chanyeol a cup of orange juice, and set everything out neatly. He had been waiting for Chanyeol to join him.

Chanyeol did. Briefly.

Chanyeol had grinned in surprise, eyes wide and glittering, and Kyungsoo had smiled his first genuine smile in months.

“All for me?” Chanyeol had crooned pleasantly, taking a seat at the table and ogling the fresh breakfast. Kyungsoo had felt so happy. Chanyeol had smiled at him, grinned at him, only him, and he was so happy.

They ate in peace for the first ten minutes.

Then Chanyeol’s phone buzzed on the table space between them. A text. Chanyeol snatched the device before Kyungsoo even questioned it, glaring at the screen before a corner of his lips subtly twitched upward, and he typed a quick response before standing from his chair.

Kyungsoo felt yet another section of his chest wilt. “You’re leaving?”

Chanyeol hadn’t even faltered as he slid into his coat. “Yeah. Manager wants me to come in early this morning.” He smiled at Kyungsoo for a second. Such a fake smile.

_Lying—why are you lying?_

Kyungsoo couldn’t say anything; didn’t say anything—watched silently as Chanyeol readied himself to leave—until words slipped off his tongue. Words that had slipped out in desperate panic. Words that had slipped out like a plea.

“I love you.”

Chanyeol paused. When he looked over at Kyungsoo, his expression was one of bemusement—rigged with a smile and drawn in brows. Kyungsoo stared blankly, grasping at anything, _for_ anything.

And then Chanyeol chuckled quizzically, and walked over to the younger. He leaned down, and pressed a slow kiss to the center of his forehead; against the smoothness of his fringe, with a steady hand on his shoulder.

Kyungsoo froze. 

Closed his eyes, tilted his head, and for a single moment – he froze.

“I’ll be back later, okay? I have to stay later than usual to catch up on some paperwork, so don’t wait up for me, okay?”

Kyungsoo watches him leave like all the others times before, in utter silence, without a word.

  


The last bit of hope in Kyungsoo’s chest wilts—everything he’d been holding onto, clinging onto, burns against his palms like rough, resistant rope.

A final mark, like a signature at the end of a suicide note—and Kyungsoo lets go the rope.

  


  


  


Kyungsoo lets go of Chanyeol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> Send any questions to **ask.fm/dyobird**
> 
> Follow **squishy_dobird** on instagram for my writing updates
> 
> ♡
> 
> [kaisoo-centric](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLy__6kScUGwgkZZ1SwkjL3JC2BQ2d_1ZE) | [chansoo-centric](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLy__6kScUGwh-nTNzbB_PgojK0Y3-BpQ9) | [full playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLy__6kScUGwjnncPShbEi5nsbEGjPyAnK)


	5. (5) Tonight Tonight Tonight

> [ Low Roar – Tonight Tonight Tonight ]
> 
> Tonight, we're washing off the blood.
> 
> Tonight, tonight.
> 
> And I've tried to give you what you want; What is it that you want?
> 
> Days spent with not a word to say; 
> 
> Routine, red lie.
> 
> So jump, we'll sit and burn a lie
> 
> We'd rather burn than fight.
> 
> But I ain't gonna be here too long
> 
> No I ain't gonna be here too long, too long
> 
> We've become so good at fooling all
> 
> So good, we often fool ourselves.
> 
> We think twice and always turn around,
> 
> A comfortable frown.
> 
> So jump, or sit and burn a lie.
> 
> There's no wrong, no right.
> 
> And I ain't gonna be here too long, too long
> 
> No I ain't gonna be here too long, too long 

Kyungsoo is on the roof.

The beer bottle is stark in his hand; a contrasting heat against the cold November wind that kisses his skin red and stings his nose. His scarf does little to keep the breeze out, but the Daughter track thrumming through his headphones is loud enough to mute the city. But not quite loud enough to distract his thoughts.  


_Pick it up—pick it all up…_

_and start again…_  


His yearbook is laid out in his lap, and he’s flipping through the pages.   


_You’ve got a second chance; you could go home…_

_Escape it all – it’s just irrelevant…_  


Hyunsik’s face sticks out, now. Kyungsoo is able to point him out in group photos. Able to recognize his kind smile. Able to notice that in one photo, a photo taken during Spring Field Day, he is staring at High-schooler Kyungsoo in the picture, but High-schooler Kyungsoo is too busy snickering something to High-schooler Minseok. There was no posing for this picture; it was taken without any student notice.  
  


_It’s just medicine…_

_It’s just... medicine…_

  


High-schooler Jongin is sitting close beside him in the grass, so close, but is looking at something evidently humorous on High-schooler Chanyeol’s phone. The photo has slightly cropped Chanyeol out of full view, but they’re both smiling, and it makes Kyungsoo want to vomit.

_You could still be, what you want to—what you said you were, when I met you…_

He wants to rip this page out of the yearbook and burn it or tear it apart and toss off the edge of the building. He resists the temptation. It wouldn’t fix anything, anyway. That day is embedded in his head, and while it’s possible to destroy this picture, it’s impossible to get rid of memories. He balls his fist, and turns his music up a bit louder.  


_You’ve got a warm heart, you’ve got a beautiful brain, but it’s … disintegrated…_

_From all the medicine…_

Kyungsoo and Chanyeol had had sex for the first time the night before this photo was taken. If Kyungsoo remembers correctly, Jongin had asked about the strange _bruises_ near his nape—had looked so concerned and worried when he noticed Kyungsoo’s wobbly walk, and Kyungsoo still remembers the way his fingers felt so gentle against the back of his neck—and Kyungsoo can’t stop staring at the photo.  


_You could still be what you want to be… What you said you were…_

“It doesn’t hurt?” All he can see is Jongin’s eyes; hear his words, feel his hands against his waist. His worry. He’s so worried.

_...when you met me…_

“You’re sure you’re okay?” All he can see is Jongin’s eyes. All he can see is his innocence. He’s so innocent. So oblivious. He doesn’t suspect a thing. Kyungsoo had found it sadistically humorous back then. How easily Jongin could be deceived.  


_You could still be what you want to—what you said you were, when I met you… When you met… me… met me … When I met you..._

  


He considers ripping himself to pieces, and tossing the remnants off the edge of the building, but the thought is fleeting. He’s already shredded. If only the wind was strong enough to carry him over the edge with the rest of the abandoned rubbish.

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


Kyungsoo remembers the page with student quotes and graduation caps. Chanyeol is smiling broadly in his picture, clutching his business diploma proudly and standing straight. His hair his faintly waved and dyed light. The complete opposite of the present. In the present, his hair is black and straight.

Beside his photo is his quote. It makes Kyungsoo scoff as he drinks the last bit of his beer. _**“My charms include my deep voice and nice smile.”**_

There is nothing inspirational about it. No deeper meaning. No meaning, at all. Kyungsoo likes Jongin’s more.

Jongin doesn’t smile with his teeth in his photo. His smile is soft and humble, but his eyes are joyous and proud. His quote has meaning. His quote gives Kyungsoo a morose smile.

“ _ **No matter what happens, I will turn my dreams into reality.”**_

What were Kyungsoo’s dreams in high school? Aspirations? Goals? He hasn’t achieved any of them, regardless. He hasn’t done anything. He’s not a doctor, or a dentist, or a lawyer. He’s not a writer, or a painter, or a builder. He doesn’t dance, he doesn’t sing, he has no career. He does not support himself, or make his own money.

Kyungsoo is nothing.

No one.

Kyungsoo wants to be something. Wants to reach out and take hold of his life again; pull in the reins, and turn back time.

He decides one night, when the moon is too bright shining into the living room, and the stars are too dim to count, that he wants a new beginning.

He decides one night, that the hickeys he spots on Chanyeol’s chest don’t hurt anymore.

He decides one night, that he will have no remorse for using Chanyeol’s bank account. 

He decides he will apply for community collage, he will get in, and he will succeed.

Chanyeol isn't blocking his view any longer.

He will reach for his new beginning, and he won’t let it slip through his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> I apologize for this filler-chapter. Things will really begin to pick up next chapter.
> 
> Something big is coming, I promise.
> 
> Send any questions to **ask.fm/dyobird**
> 
> Follow **squishy_dobird** on instagram for my writing updates
> 
> ♡
> 
> [kaisoo-centric](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLy__6kScUGwgkZZ1SwkjL3JC2BQ2d_1ZE) | [chansoo-centric](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLy__6kScUGwh-nTNzbB_PgojK0Y3-BpQ9) | [full playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLy__6kScUGwjnncPShbEi5nsbEGjPyAnK)


	6. (6) Breathe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn't realized I didn't continue posting here on AFF, so I apologize for the delay! Here is chapter six and seven. :) Two in one.
> 
> Also, I haven't been able to use my laptop recently; I'm updating via my phone, so the formatting might be a little different.

**[ NELL – Breath ]**

_  
Will I be okay?   
Is there any point in trying?   
Only my doubts grow…   
  
Doing this alone is too sad.   
I try so hard, but I’m exhausted…   
It seems nothing goes my way.   
  
Even so, I must endure.   
I must put everything back in its place.   
I must not forget what I’ve lost.   
Because nothing makes me stronger… than the living, breathing truth inside of me. _

 

 

 

 

  
  
Kyungsoo is in disbelief. Kyungsoo is shell-shocked; nonplussed by what’s before him. He cannot believe it. Doesn’t know if he should believe it, but the more he takes in his surroundings, the more reality takes him by the hand. It had taken three months to get to this. It had taken so much paperwork, documents, placement tests, and two full-time jobs. It had taken three months, but he did it. He made it. He’s here.   
  
The college laid out in front of him is daunting in size, and there are gray clouds overhead, but neither bring his spirits down. His books are heavy in his side satchel, and his parking permit and student ID are clutched in his nervous hands, but his fluttering giddiness is ceaseless, and a smile wobbles steadily at his lips.   
  
His key chain is hooked onto his bag, and it jangles as he unearths his feet from their standstill and makes his way toward the Student Information Center. It’s stationed on the opposite side of the campus. The front way is very fancy, with a water fountain statue and freshly cut grass, dripping dew. There are no blackened old pieces of gum flattened into the sidewalks like Hyundai High School, and there’s nothing growing between the pavements that he walks along. It’s very clean, very nice.   
  
He heaves the glass door open, and step silently into the SIC building, eyes wide and dart about. The interior is extravagant, immaculate. The floor are polished marble, and the walls are pure white, and there’s a chandelier hung from the ceiling and gorgeous art hung in all the aesthetically correct places. To complete the semblance, Beethoven’s Für Elise is playing softly over the intercom—achieving a calm, poise peace.   
  
Kyungsoo opens his side satchel and checks his papers and the address visible outside the window, ensuring that he is at the correct community college. He is—and the revelation is both extremely pleasing and utterly unbelievable. This place is amazing. Beautiful.   
  
There’s a swell of pride in his tummy, a sudden pull in his cheeks, and he cannot contain himself. He grins with fullfillment.   
  
He got himself here. Only he.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Building D12 isn’t hard to find, and it’s even twice as impeccable than the SIC. The walls are wide, and the student vary in age—and Beethoven is still thrumming through the intercom. It has Kyungsoo’s nerves trembling, but he is undeterred as he makes his way to his class. He’s a Baking and Pastry Arts major, with a minor in Business Management. Math is an irrevocable side that no student on campus can avoid.   
  
The Baking and Pastry classroom is very homey and warm. It has linoleum floors, there’s quaint cabinets and counters, and decorations on the walls, and TV’s mounted up in front with a close up view of the teachers cooking area. The student desks aren’t really desks—there are no chairs, and the “desks” are just a four rows of counters with wheels, sectioned off with cutting boards for each student. The cutting boards are stationed by twos—they will be paired up. Kyungsoo’s not sure if this is worrying or exciting. Maybe he could a friend. Or at least something close to that. The thought gives him a cozy feeling.   
  
  
There are already several students in the classroom, standing in front of their counter sections and chatting amongst themselves. They’re all in baker uniforms, while Kyungsoo is not. He hasn’t received his in the mail just yet. This makes him feel awkward and misplaced; his pulse faintly flutters with anxiety, but he pushes it down and claims a counter section in the last row where no one else has settled.   
  
This is where he fades into the background. This is where he observes.   
  
Many of the student that file into the room are most probably younger than him, but there are a few older folks that could be in their thirties or late forties. There are few that Kyungsoo thinks could be around his age—of a which seem to already have acquainted themselves with others, and don’t even look his way.   
  
As more student enter, the less Kyungsoo pays them any mind. The spot beside reminds vacant, and he suspects it stay that way. It’s a disheartening thought, so he fiddles on his phone to pretend he’s not bothered.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“Is this spot open?”   
  
Kyungsoo looks up with a start, meeting angular features with soft eyes and naturally pouty lips. Nonplussed, he forgets to speak until the man motions towards the cutting board next to one Kyungsoo has claimed.   
  
“Oh— ” He fumbles for a moment, flustered as he straightens himself from where he’d been lazily leaning against the counter and rushes to move his things move to his side, “Yes—I mean, it’s not, no, go ahead.”   
  
The man smiles with a hint of a chortle as he takes his place at the counter. Kyungsoo is embarrassed, so he pretends to be putting things in his bag to avoid any further awkward interaction. He can feel the guy looking at him, but he’s surprised when actually speaks up.   
  
“I’m Kim Seokjin. What’s you name?” He asks, smiling. He’s wearing baker uniform; pea green jacket with a tall white hat atop his head and black khakis. Seokjin extends his hand for Kyungsoo to take.   
  
Kyungsoo swallows his nerves, and shakes his hand. “Do Kyungsoo. I’m— new...” He adds a feathery chuckle, but it comes out dull and sheepish.   
  
“I can tell.” Seokjin admits with a humored gesture to Kyungsoo’s attire—navy sweater vest overlaying a white button up and tan khakis. Kyungsoo flushes a little; laughs a little, too.   
  
“It hasn’t come in the mail yet, so I didn’t know what else to where.” He explains, so sheepish. Seokjin smiles.   
  
“No need to explain, I understand. Here, I have a spare jacket in my locker,” The taller glances toward the back of the classroom before pausing, “Follow me.” He makes a beckoning motion, and Kyungsoo can only follow, clutching his satchel.   
  
“You can put your bag and belongings here,” Seokjin states, pointing to an empty locker, and Kyungsoo waddles over he shoves his back into one of the cubbies while the other pulls out a fresh baker’s jacket.   
  
The jacket is a bit big on Kyungsoo, but it fits nevertheless. “Thank you.” Kyungsoo mumbles out as they return to their counter. Seokjin shakes his head dismissively.   
  
“It’s nothing, really.” He abides with a gentle smile and subtle wave of his hand, adding with a chuckle: “Teach wouldn’t have let you bake if you didn’t at least have a jacket to wear.”   
  
“Ah,” Kyungsoo chortles under his breath, brushing his hands down the front of the jacket as his ears heat up. It would’ve been a disaster had said jacket not been lent to him. “Thanks.”   
  
Seokjin scrunches his nose with a pleasant smile, shaking his head to acknowledge and dismiss the gratitude.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Over time, Kyungsoo learns that Seokjin is very nice and carefree. He loves to cook, but his favorite part of class is the sampling—because food is his number one. He is chic, and adult-like, but Kyungsoo is actually older than him by several months, and his favorite color is pink.   
  
He is the polar opposite of Kyungsoo in every which way, but they work in a strange jigsaw friendship.   
  
Friendship where Kyungsoo giggles between lectures as Seokjin mutters a joke about the Teacher’s sheepish voice and contradicting appearance. Where he’ sneakily licking icing from his fingers because Seokjin had really shown him how to rebel. Friendship where Kyungsoo will step in and beat Seokjin’s batter for him because the younger can’t manage to hold the whisk just right, and where Seokjin will offer to roll out Kyungsoo’s dough because the elder always applies too much pressure and flattens it to paper.   
  
They exchange phone numbers, and they trade stupid memes and recipes that they’ll never bake.   
  
A friendship like a movie. A montage of smiles and laughter and silliness, put under a peppy tune and bright beautiful colors and perfectly timed jump-cuts.   
  
Where sadness doesn’t exist.   
Where Kyungsoo can let go.   
  
  
He smiles, and giggles, and goofs with Seokjin. He laughs. He laughs so hard his ribs ache. He laughs so hard, because it had felt like decades since the last time he laughed with such happiness.   
  
He laughs so hard with the fear that if he ever stops, he might never start again. He laughs while he can.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A party. Kyungsoo gets invited to a party. Chanyeol invites him to a party. Baekhyun’s party.   
  
He is shell-shocked at first, nonplussed. Numb. He can’t feel his fingers. He can’t feel his fingers at all. He cannot feel the pen in his grasp. He cannot feel the paper slice his thumb, until a tiny bead of blood emerges over the slit.   
  
“It’s a surprise birthday party for his co-worker, Taehyung, and he’s invited us to come along.” Chanyeol continues with the details, oblivious to Kyungsoo at the dinner table. He licks his paper cut, and looks back down at the Math problems scattered across the paper for him to solve.   
  
“There’s going to be champagne and ice-cream cake and a live DJ, and everything. It was all Baekhyun’s idea and I think it’ll be a lot of fun!” He’s grinning; so happy and excited. Kyungsoo can’t help but smile along with him. Smile and ignore the drumming in his chest.   
  
His lips pull upward, weak and strained, but gentle. “Yeah. It sounds really fun.”   
  
“He said the more the merrier, so we can basically invite anyone we want! Everyone has to bring a present, though, so we have to decide on what to get the guy. I don’t really know any of his interests, so I think it just be something simple. Like a card or something. Or—hey! Maybe you could make him some cupcakes?”   
  
Kyungsoo smiles and nods, and smiles, and nods some more. He goes through the motions while not truly listening at all. Chanyeol talks, and grins, and smiles so animatedly. Kyungsoo blurs and fogs and fades and clears and hurts and smiles and laughs and agrees and pretends.   
  
  
It is easier this way.   
It is better this way.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
He loves to see Chanyeol so happy.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
He can’t do it.   
He can’t do it again.   
He can’t be reminded.   
  
He needs someone, anyone, so bother with. Someone, anyone, to sit with him the corner, while everyone else at the party converses. He needs someone to steal his attention from Chanyeol’s wandering hands and Baekhyun’s sweet laughter. Steal his worries and replace them with smiles. With drunken laughter.   
  
He needs an escape.   
He needs a distraction.   
  
A friend.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Kyungsoo hesitates. Kyungsoo fidgets. Kyungsoo worries, and ponders, and never hears anything that’s said during class.   
  
He needs to do this. He needs to reach out. He must.   
  
When class comes to an end, his eyes continuously flicker towards his desk partner as they clean up for the day. He searches for words until they spill from from his stammering lips. “Jin.”   
  
Seokjin looks at him. Kyungsoo fidgets with a rolling pin.   
  
  
“So, uh… Not to be weird or anything, but. There’s this party that, uh… I got invited to this party tonight, and I don’t, um… I don’t want to go alone, so I – ...I was just wondering if, maybe, you’d wanna… go with me. Tonight. To this birthday party thing.”   
  
He can’t read Seokjin’s expression until a look of unease crosses his eyes. “Tonight?” Kyungsoo nods uselessly. Seokjin smiles flatly, shaking his head as he shrugs out of his baker’s jacket. “Ah no, I can’t, actually, I have, uh... this thing that I have to do. This—it’s like a work thing, so.” Kyungsoo stares, wobbly, woozy, bleary-eyed, until Seokjin takes the silence as hurt feelings. “I mean—I would, but, um. Y’know.” He tugs at his earlobe, eyes avoiding Kyungsoo’s. “Look, Kyungsoo, I have a girlfriend, so, uh.. Sorry.”   
  
  
Kyungsoo doesn’t understand. Doesn’t feel the weight of Seokjin’s uncomfortable tone until it’s too late; until Seokjin has gathered his bag and is already halfway into the hallway.   
  
“Oh—no, wait Jin it wasn’t anything like that, I was just—!” Seokjin is gone, so Kyungsoo’s voice dies on his tongue, and his fingers tighten against the rolling pin’s handle, dry with flour. His throat feels squeezed, and his eyes hurt. And it’s then that he notices the other students still in the room—student who had heard it all and watched the climax. Students that are now giving Kyungsoo questioning glances and putting away their things.   
  
Kyungsoo’s smile trembles under their eyes, awkward and dense and embarrassed. He averts his gaze downward as he continues cleaning his area, not looking up until he reaches the apartment and closes the door behind himself.   
  
  
Chanyeol is there, in the kitchen, talking on the phone. And Kyungsoo can tell by his posture and tone that he is speaking to Baekhyun.   
  
  
  
  
  
Kyungsoo doesn’t know which hurts more: the burn behind his eyes, or the cold wind slicing against his cheeks. He doesn’t have a scarf, only his thin sweater. He air-conditioner he perches on vibrates below his bottom, a soft, steady hum that it calming and stable.   
  
He’s on the roof again. Watching the clouds drift over the sunset.   
  
He later decides, when he comes back to the apartment, that they are both equally as painful as he cranks on the shower and lets the hot water defrost his frame.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
He’s okay.   
It’s okay.   
Everything’s okay.   
  
A misunderstanding. It was just a misunderstanding with Seokjin.   
  
It’s okay.   
It’s fine.   
  
The bedroom is dark, the only source of light coming from the connected bathroom.   
  
He takes deep breaths as he picks out his outfit for the night and lays it out over their bed. He ignores the images that flash behind his eyelids, ignores the laughter in his head, closes his eyes against the sound of the headboard knocking against the wall and the soft moans that were still etched into his memory.   
  
It’s okay.   
He’s okay.   
Everything’s fine.   
  
He pulls his clothes on while Chanyeol hums in the bathroom and styles his hair. He shakes out his damp fringe and slips his shoes onto his feet.   
  
“What time do we have to be there?” Kyungsoo asks.   
  
“Baekhyun said no later than nine.” Chanyeol answers as he finishes up in the bathroom and flicks the light off. Kyungsoo sits in front of the closet in darkness, until Chanyeol walks through the room and turns the living room light on. It shines in through the door, against his back, and casts a silhouette of Kyungsoo’s seated and slumped posture on the floor.   
  
Kyungsoo makes a vague sound as he finishes lacing his shoes. He sits there. Quietly, thinking.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
There is a number that’s burning in his wallet. A number he’d forgotten about until just this moment. Kyungsoo flips open his wallet in search of it.   
  
The number is Lim Hyunsik’s.   
  
His fingers graze against the small card-sized slip of paper. He hesitates.   
  
“Are you ready?” Chanyeol calls from the kitchen, jangling his keys between his fingers.   
  
Kyungsoo dithers; tentative.   
  
No.   
He shouldn’t call Hyunsik. He has a feeling that there is an implication in calling Hyunsik. An implication greater than a simple hangout between old friends—if they could even be called that.   
  
  
“You wanna get out of here? Go for a walk, maybe.” Hyunsik suggests, and Kyungsoo wants to ignore the dull hope in his gaze. Wants to ignore the underlying meaning when Hyunsik says, with a laugh, “Maybe you can forget, too.”   
  
  
  
  
He let’s out a soft sigh, “Yeah,” and closes his wallet—slipping it into his back pocket as he goes to meet Chanyeol at the door.   
  
Chanyeol smiles at him, so he automatically smiles back.   
  
Weak. Kyungsoo feels weak.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Kyungsoo floats through the hours in foggy clarity. He loses count of the Smirnoff bottles he empties and people he meets. All he knows is his limbs feel bubbly and Baekhyun’s jokes are too funny not to laugh at. His cheeks end up aching from smiling too much, and his balance is shaky, so he sits down at some point. He doesn’t know how long he sits on the couch, but he never stops smiling stupidly as people dance and drink and laugh around him.   
  
He gets up again, eventually, when his bottle is empty, and the only full ones are in the kitchen.   
  
He breaks a cup and spills vodka all over the counter—causes such a big scene that people turn toward the ruckus—but it’s okay because Baekhyun says it’s okay, and his smile is really charming, and then he’s in the bathroom and Baekhyun’s patting his back and Chanyeol looks tired but amused, and Kyungsoo has already thrown up once or thrice and it’s gotten on Baekhyun’s shirt—but that’s also okay because the shirt he’s wearing belongs to Chanyeol.   
  
(And Kyungsoo is so drunk, all he can do it smile and chuckle and pretend he doesn’t care or question how Baekhyun got the shirt.)   
  
  
  
  
  
  
He made cupcakes for whosoever birthday it was—Taehyung—and ate half of them on the drive back home. Chanyeol tucks him in and gives him a barf bucket, and Chanyeol’s empathetic smile is too pretty not to return.   
  
Kyungsoo lays on the couch that night, drifting in and out, deciding that Baekhyun is kind of nice, and Chanyeol doesn’t fucking deserve him.   
  
Chanyeol doesn’t fucking deserve anything.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
Regardless, he loves to see Chanyeol so happy. His glimmering eyes and cheeky grins were beautiful, even if they were caused by another man. By Baekhyun. It was beautiful to see.   
  
  
He goes to sleep that night deciding it’s okay. There is peace in his bones, silence in his mind, breath in his lungs, and he decides it’s okay. It’s okay.   
  
Things could be better, but for now—everything’s okay.   
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

  
  


 

 

 

 

 

  
It’s hard. Facing the nervousness, the fear—the inevitable. But Kyungsoo has to do this. He has to sort this out. He has to. Regardless, he stands outside the ice-cream parlor for twenty minutes, smiles awkwardly as people give him curious looks and pass by, before tentatively sliding inside as someone steps out.   
  
Seokjin is there. At one of the booths, with a vanilla and strawberry sundae. The sundae is half-eaten and covered with nuts and chocolate chips. He looks as carefree as he always does; as the first day they met.   
  
Kyungsoo can feel himself shaking.   
  
Exactly two hours before, he had texted Seokjin; asking him if they could maybe meet up someplace. Maybe so he could explain. Maybe so he wouldn’t have to continue listening to Chanyeol tease him about getting wasted and puking everywhere.   
  
  
He reached the booth with no incident, but his knees are weak, and he doesn’t know what to say—or how to even greet the other. He settles into the opposite seat with no words and his eyes to the table. Seokjin smiles.   
  
“Hey, Soo.”   
  
Kyungsoo returns the smile, but it wobbles faintly, and when he speaks—his voice is guttural and small. “Hi, Jin.”   
  
Seokjin holds out a spoon of his ice-cream, and Kyungsoo is blank for a moment before declining with another tremulous smile and a shake of his head.   
  
There is silence. Seokjin eats the last bit of his sundae, and Kyungsoo tries to keep the anxiety out of his expression. He isn’t being very successful with this. There is a settled frown in his brows.   
  
  
He’s just beginning the first sound of speech when Seokjin interrupts his words.   
  
“Listen, Kyungsoo—I want to apologize for the other day.” Kyungsoo’s tongue freeze mid-syllable. “It was really—I overreacted, and I hope you don’t get the wrong idea about...” Seokjin motions vaguely between the both of them before cracking a smile. “—It’s not what it came off as, really, um. I don’t have a girlfriend.”   
  
Kyungsoo’s brows are creased in more than just anxiety now. Confusion.   
  
Seokjin notes this and chuckles awkwardly; itches the side of his neck. “Okay, so basically I’m aromantic.”   
  
Kyungsoo doesn’t say anything. Kyungsoo is blank.   
  
“Well actually there’s no ‘basically’ about it—I am aromantic.” He adds another awkward chuckle. “So when you asked me out, I kind of panicked, and I didn’t know what to do, and I didn’t want to lead you on in that sense, so I just said the first thing to come to mind, and it was shitty of my to just do that, and not explain myself, and I’m very sorry, Kyungsoo. I hope you can understand and that you’re not hurt. I hope we can still be friends.”   
  
There is worry and desperation in Seokjin’s eyes; a distraught curb to his brow and nibble on his lip. Kyungsoo doesn’t even know where to start.   
  
  
“No. No-no, it’s—Of course we can still be friends.” His voice is bubbling and brimming. He could cry in relief. “That day—I wasn’t meaning for it to come out like that, in that sense either, I was just asking as a friend for you to come with me—I’m sorry that made you uncomfortable—”   
  
“No, it was my misunderstanding!” Seokjin interjects with a breathy laugh, and then Kyungsoo can’t help but smile too. “How cocky of me to think you were coming onto me, no? Although, I mean, I am sexy so I wouldn’t blame you.” He brushes his fringe back with exaggerated suave, and he laughs after.   
  
Kyungsoo laughs too, and when a waiter passes by, he orders a banana split and another sundae for Seokjin.   
  
  
  
  
They leave the parlor some hours later, when the sun is disappearing and the shop is closing up. They’re full of laughter and smiles, and when they depart at the bus stop—Seokjin has him promise to meet up again outside of class, and Kyungsoo grins and chuckles and obliges with no hesitation.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
That evening, he cooks a big dinner and sets the table, and eats with a smile, and when Chanyeol asks, with a smile he’s caught from Kyungsoo’s infectious one—pleasantly surprised with the abnormality—“what’s the occasion? What’s got you all peppy?” The younger can only shrug his shoulders and smile a little brighter.   
  
“I… I just feel nice today.” He beams, with a soft chuckle. Chanyeol doesn’t say anything, just keeps his own curious smile and watches Kyungsoo a few moments more than needed.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
They’re okay.   
He and Seokjin. They’re okay.   
  
Kyungsoo is flooded with happiness. Full of relief. Brimming with glee.   
He’s so happy. So relieved   
  
As he sleeps that night, he’s calm.   
  
  
  
And when he wakes in the morning, he is the one to leave Chanyeol with a smile and a kiss farewell. He leaves Chanyeol to eat his breakfast alone; to be caught off guard with a blank, confused expression, and a delayed response.   
  
Chanyeol sits there at the table for a prolonged while, slowly moving his breakfast about his plate.   
It's suddenly become quite bleak and tasteless. Then does he realize how quite the apartment can become.   
Then his phone buzzes, and his smile blossoms. Baekhyun.   
  
  
  


 

 

 

  
  
  
Kyungsoo is a roller coaster. A ride full of loops and dips and rises and falls – and he’s long since lost control of the breaks.   
  
He rises with laughter and stupid inside jokes. He loops with shared lunches and playful elbow nudges. He falls with every evening; plummets into Seokjin’s eyes, melts between soft smiles.   
  
Sparks and collides with every touch. Stings, burns, and bleeds with every shot of liquor to wash reality away.   
  
  
  
He searches for the breaks, grasping, begging, desperately – but they’re broken, and he stuck surging forth. Unstoppable.   
  
He can’t stop the way his eyes linger. He can’t help the way his fingers tug at Seokjin’s shirt when he wants him a little closer, when his stomach and tumbling with anxiety over a class evaluation. The way his hands find their place on Seokjin’s thigh, or wrapped around his bicep, when the younger throws him into a fit of laughter over a silly antic or dumb joke.   
  
His center of gravity is shifting; his center like a magnet, and Seokjin like iron. He wishes things could switch—that Seokjin’s heart could repeal, and not attract. That there was no warmth in his limbs when they meet gazes; that he could cut the wings off the butterflies dancing in his tummy.   
  
He wishes.   
He hopes.   
He prays.   
  
He drowns in liquor, forgets his troubles, ignores his heart—but ruins the progress every time he shows up at Seokjin’s door at three in morning, drunk, tired, with no other place in mind – no other person to be pulled toward.   
  
  
  
  
  
And he sees Seokjin’s hesitance. He notices the way he subtly steps away. And he tentatively lets go, when the younger pulls from his hold. He feels, as Seokjin hides his hands in his pockets.   
  
The way Seokjin tries to stay at a distance.   
The worry that settles heavily in his brows, when Kyungsoo nestles against his side in the middle of a film.   
  
The sadness and sorrow, as he tucks Kyungsoo into his bed, and lets him sleep away the intoxication and confusion.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Kyungsoo never brings it up. Never admits that there is a soft, pink flower blooming between the cracked pavements of his damaged heart. He doesn’t want to accept his inevitable fate—that his wild ride only has one ending. That there is a break in the tracks, and he will be hurled into ash and flames.   
  
He hides the small blossom, pretends it’s not there—tries to snuff it out, but ends up nurturing it, instead.   
  
Because he had missed this feeling. This innocent, pure feeling of attraction and care. Comfort.   
  
Maybe he can be a little selfish for just a little longer. Maybe he is allowed to test the limits, so long as he doesn’t cross any lines.   
  
  
He will respect Seokjin. He will try his best to keep his feelings under wraps, but maybe it’s okay to let their hands brush—to let the back of his palm brush briefly with Seokjin’s knuckles, so long as he doesn’t try to twine their fingers.   
  
It’s okay. It’s all right.   
  
Things fade with time. Feelings fade with distance.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It’s warm. The sun is out, the birds are singing, and Kyungsoo is pleasantly surprised to find he doesn’t really need his cotton sweater as he walks hurriedly along the campus sidewalk. He glances down at his phone in his hand, checking the time with a soft curse under his breath. He’s running late.   
  
He’s supposed to be going out to dinner with Chanyeol at six – the elder having suggested the date yesterday morning. It had been so long since they’d had a night out, just the two of them, and the hopeful hue in his lover’s gaze had him accepting with only a single beat of hesitance.   
  
There was a strain on their relationship—not that there hadn’t been one before, but their growing separation and drastically decreased interaction made the push and pull that much more prominent. It made Kyungsoo ache. A soft, gentle ache that he figured he should’ve gotten used to after so long.   
  
But in a way, he almost liked it.   
  
He liked that Chanyeol was now on the yearning end – the one sitting in silent disappointment, the one left saddened, the one reaching out and grasping for any sort of recognition. He liked that Chanyeol noticed his absence, the he noticed – when his phone lay silent, and the air lay still – that he wanted Kyungsoo; missed Kyungsoo.   
  
Kyungsoo wanted to be wanted. All he wanted was to be wanted. He craved it.   
  
  
So, when Chanyeol barely caught him by the wrist, halted his rush to get to class, and kept him there in the doorway, with a small smile and a certain sadness in his eyes but hope in voice – Kyungsoo cleared his schedule, and let a thin cloak of warmth blanket over his heart.   
  
  
The digital numbers on his phone screen read 5:46PM, meaning he had less than twenty minutes to get back to the apartment and make himself at least decently presentable. The restaurant they were going to wasn’t particularly fancy – but Kyungsoo felt a deep need to look good; better than his usual.   
  
To show Chanyeol… to show him…   
  
Just for Chanyeol, he wanted to look his best. For Chanyeol.   
  
He picked up his pace a bit, bringing his fast-walk into a slow jog, the balmy breeze caressing his skin in the nicest of way. He could feel it, deep within his shell, the pleasantness on the evening. The calmness. Birds chirped and nestled their new eggs, and butterflies fluttered about in constant search of sweet nectar. Spring was truly beautiful.   
  
“Kyungsoo!”   
  
Beautiful – the same adjective to come to mind when someone across the lot caught his eyes. A tall figure, with stylish hair and a pink cardigan. His lips slightly pressed, mouth evidently full as his cocoa eyes turned into smiling crescents. He raised a muffin in the air, waving in greeting. Kyungsoo returned the gesture, raising his hand high and enthusiastic as he hollered back. “Seokjin!”   
  
Kyungsoo slowed as the other made his way over, smiling big and excitedly, “Are you free tonight?” He asked once they were within speaking distance, offering his muffin out to the elder. Kyungsoo naturally accepted it, taking a generous bite before handing it back, “I wanna try out this Italian recipe I found in my Grandma’s cookbook!”   
  
“I have a plans tonight,” Kyungsoo sighed regretfully. Seokjin visibly deflated, but his spirits weren’t entire squished.   
  
“Well tomorrow, then?” He asked, hopefully.   
Kyungsoo instantly nodded, adding a small smile and an, “Of course.”   
  
Seokjin grinned, pleased. They stood their for a moment, Kyungsoo needing to go but wanting to stay. He was just about to benignly state his rush when the younger did it for him. “Are you late for something? You looked like you were in a rush.”   
  
Kyungsoo hesitated for a moment. The wind feathered through both his own and Seokjin’s fringe. A bee buzzed a short distance away, a couple girls walked by them. “Ah, well… I actually have a date tonight. With Chanyeol” He said, the word bitter yet sweet on his tongue.   
  
Seokjin knows of Chanyeol. Seokjin knows of almost everything between them, Kyungsoo having spilled the sullen and gory details over a span of drunken, artificial therapy sessions. In his Sober State, Kyungsoo wouldn’t have confided in the other, especially given him all the intimate details—but his Drunken State was loose-tongued and reckless.   
  
He fidgeted as the others soaked in these words, sorting them out and filing them away. “That’s good.” He concluded, after several bated moments of thought. His words sounded fake. Not the least bit genuine. But Kyungsoo appreciated them, anyway, and nodded with a fabricated smile.   
  
“I better go.” Kyungsoo mumbled, after a minute too long of silence. Seokjin nodded in understanding, and Kyungsoo was two steps on his way when the younger stopped him again.   
  
“Call me. If you need to. Okay?”   
  
The worry in his eyes. He set his heart ablaze. He smiled gentle, nodded, and gave Seokjin’s forearm a gentle squeeze to show his gratitude. “Okay.”   
  
Seokjin smiled, a bit more at peace, as he stepped back to make a proper leave this time. “Okay.”   
  
Kyungsoo chuckled a little. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jin.”   
  
The younger smiled a shade brighter, parroting his chuckle. “Okay.”   
  
Kyungsoo laughed this time. “Okay.” and dithered for just a few moments more for turning, and finally continuing on his way. A glance at the time turned his slow jog into a run – mild panic settling in the realization that his twenty minutes was now chopped in half.   
  
He rounded a corner towards the parking lot, digging one hand into his bag to retrieve his keychain hidden deep under piles of paper and books. He grasped hold of it, pulled it free—and noticed someone.   
  
Someone tall and lean, with soft brown hair, warm eyes, and a dimple beneath his chin, lips pulled into a smile that had Kyungsoo’s world falling down all around him.   
  
Someone sat in a car, with the driver’s side window rolled down, and his head slightly poked out, as he greeted a woman on her way to the car. He could faintly hear her sweet laughter, and his soft coo. He could feel the warmth in the air disappear with his next heartbeat, leaving the world cold with its vibrant colors turned gray.   
  
Kyungsoo’s movements halted. He watched, as the woman leaned down and greeted the man with a playful kiss to his lips, her hand caressing his sun-skinned cheek – stabbing a knife through Kyungsoo’s being.   
  
She soon got into the car. They soon pulled off. And they were gone.   
  
  


  
  
  
  
And in that single moment, with him frozen in the middle of the parting lot, with his chest seized up, and his limbs losing feeling, Kyungsoo’s entire world came crumbling down again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twitter: alphaksoo  
> Tumblr: omegajongin (main blog) / kaileidohscope (side kaisoo blog)
> 
> ♡


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